


Truth Can Hurt

by bubbly (jeely)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Lifetime Movies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeely/pseuds/bubbly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur dislikes mornings. He dislikes the way Eames sings in the shower. Disney songs and wildly off-key. For thirteen months (well, probably more like 6 or 7, at most), he's been hearing an off-key rendition of "A Whole New World" every morning at exactly 6:50.</p>
<p>It's getting old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Can Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Did I put this in a folder in my Google docs and completely forget about it for 2 years? YUP.

Arthur doesn't like complacency. He doesn't like latency, either. Or just sitting around and doing nothing. He doesn't like daytime TV and he certainly doesn't give a flying fuck who is sleeping with who on any of the Mexican soap operas Eames seems to be so invested in.

It's this complete lack of interest that scares him. They've been together for thirteen months ("Baker's dozen," Eames had quipped over an ice cream cake with "we haven't killed each other yet" scrawled across it in blue icing) and the bloom is coming off the rose.

Eames likes routine. He gets up precisely at 6 a.m. every day, regardless of the world's happenings, and goes for a run. He saunters into the kitchen, looking fresh as a goddamn daisy at 6:35 (on the dot - how the hell does he do that?), ruffles Arthur's bedhead, and leans against the counter to scan the day's headlines as he sips his espresso.

Arthur dislikes mornings. And coffee. Ugh, how he hates coffee. The smell is delightful, but it tastes like the backside of a sick donkey. (He'd rather not get into how he knows what the backside of a sick donkey tastes like, but trust this - do not believe Sumatran goat herders when they tell you they've got a place for you to sleep. They're probably lying.) Arthur tends to stumble out of bed at 6:20, start the coffee pot for Eames, and puts the kettle on for himself. There is nothing so delicious in the morning as a nice hot cup of Earl Grey with about 6 spoonfuls of sugar and half a cup of milk. He does, however, dislike Eames' smug face as he runs his stupid gorgeous fingers through Arthur's hair at 6:35 in the goddamn morning. He dislikes the way Eames sings in the shower. Disney songs and wildly off-key. For thirteen months (well, probably more like 6 or 7, at most), he's been hearing an off-key rendition of "A Whole New World" every morning at exactly 6:50.

It's getting old.

They're in the living room lounging on the entirely-too-expensive couch one innocuous Thursday evening. Eames has sprawled himself in his traditional way, one leg hooked over the arm, the other across the coffee table. To anyone who didn't know him, it would look like a blatant invitation. Well, and to anyone who does know him. To Arthur, it's just the way Eames is most comfortable after that horrible job in Bangladesh left him with a slipped disc and a new shape to his nose. Arthur looks at Eames, munching on the last of the potato chips, and sighs before glancing back at his computer screen. He's been digging for jobs for weeks. Anything to get him out of the house - research, extractions. Hell, at this point, he'd go back into architecture if it meant he could have five minutes doing something productive.

As he clicks through his regular forums, Arthur grows increasingly frustrated with the state of his life. When did he become a…a house-husband? He looks back at Eames and his eyebrows draw together. It's not that he dislikes Eames. He likes Eames. On some days he even might love him, if the concept wasn't both foreign and terrifying. The sex is consistently fantastic, as well as fantastically consistent. It's just getting a bit stale, he supposes.

Arthur shifts position away from Eames and opens a new tab in his browser. "Reinvigorating gay sex life," he types into Google, then immediately hates himself as he hits enter. Within moments, he's looking at hundreds of suggestions from the predictable ('add a third partner!') to the extreme ('make him your slave - literally!'). He glances at Eames to make sure he's still engrossed in whatever insipid Lifetime Christmas movie is playing before clicking on the second link down. The suggestions are actually better than he expected.

"Eames?"

A grunt in response. Arthur tries to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Do you think…nevermind." Arthur can feel his ears light up, bright pink and hot, a beacon to his embarrassment. For all his reputation as a cold bastard, Arthur is still, in fact, human.

Eames drops his head back and looks at Arthur upside down, his hair flopping adorably. Arthur can't hide the smile or fight the instinct to run his fingers through the soft brown locks.

"What is it, darling?" Eames asks, his face concerned.

Arthur looks back to his screen and frowns.

"I was just…" he pauses, collects himself. "I was hoping maybe tonight we could skip the Lifetime movie and get to the fun part?"

Eames smiles dangerously and clicks the TV off, rolling himself off the couch to settle between Arthur's legs.

"I'm fairly certain they're going to get together in the end, anyway," he says as he leans his forearms against Arthur's thighs, looking up at him innocently.

Arthur closes his laptop and runs his fingers through Eames' hair again. "The good ones always do," he smiles.

Eames runs his hands up Arthur's thighs, his grin turning dangerous in that way only Eames can be. This excited Arthur a year ago. It made him want to jump Eames and he usually did. But it feels so typical, so normal. Not that there's anything wrong with either of those things, but part of Arthur yearns for something different, something exciting. He remembers in the back of his mind the sheer force of his lust for Eames and the way he couldn't get enough of him. The way they pawed at each other in bars and the backs of cabs, impatient to get somewhere they could take off their pants and rut against each other. Arthur misses that in some ways - the raw lust and emotion that came with it, before the Lifetime movies and the hair ruffles in the mornings. Arthur just wants to feel alive.

And all at once, he feels like a middle aged woman and Arthur hates himself yet again. He's barely 34 for God's sake! Still in the prime of his life. And look how hot Eames is, he tells himself. Those lips that should belong to a porn star, the eyes that burn with lust for him, for Arthur and Arthur alone. How could he look at this man and not want to jump him?

It's that realization that frustrates Arthur even more. He should want Eames, and he does, but he wants to want Eames more. He wants to recapture that fire, that blinding heat they had. So Arthur does something unexpected. He pushes Eames back on the lovely rug they picked up in Turkey six months ago (the colors just match the curtains so nicel-focus, Arthur) and straddles him, leaning down to lick at the collarbones peeking out from the white undershirt Eames has taken to wearing regularly. Arthur certainly can't complain about that, what with Eames' fucking arms. He needs no further argument for the undershirts. The arms are enough.

Eames chuckles in surprise and grabs Arthur's hips.

"Well, this is an interesting turn of events," his voice rumbles. Arthur can feel the vibrations on his lips and he moves southward, dragging them along Eames' cotton-covered chest to his navel.

"I thought maybe we'd try something different this time," he murmurs in reply, tongue dipping down into the cleft of Eames' stomach.

A quiet moan meets Arthur's ears and he grins. Apparently he's doing something right. Sliding further down, Arthur hooks his thumbs in Eames' Nike shorts and tugs them down to his knees in one swift movement. There it is. The cock to end all cocks. The instrument of Arthur's ultimate pleasure for the last 13 months. Arthur's mouth waters a little as he looks at it for a moment, curving lightly toward Eames' stomach, hard and flushed and ready to be ridden until the sun comes up.

"Do something about that won't you?" Eames asks, an amused tint to his voice as he watches Arthur salivate over him.

Arthur licks his lips and ignores Eames' appreciative moan as he leans down to suckle the head lightly. Eames' taste is familiar and warm, like coming home after school to a house that smells of baking bread. Arthur shudders a little and wraps his lips tighter, blocking out the idea of his mother's kitchen and Eames' cock anywhere in the same universe.

Arthur works Eames slowly and deliberately until he's a shuddering mess on the floor, gasping like a grounded fish, his whole body flushed and slightly damp with sweat. Arthur's barely hard and that just frustrates him even more.

"I'm so close," Eames manages to get out, raising his head to look at Arthur again. "Don't you want to-"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence, his breath stolen by Arthur swiftly taking him in his mouth down to the root, nearly choking himself. It's only a few moments more before Eames is coming hot and swift down Arthur's throat, his whole body shaking violently.

Arthur takes his time pulling off, licking him clean and enjoying, on a non-sexual level, the little shudders that rack Eames' body as Arthur continues to tease his over-stimulated cock. Deciding Eames has had enough torture, Arthur tugs his shorts back up and flops on the floor next to him, exhausted and a bit jaw-locked from the experience.

Eames rolls to the side and pulls Arthur in close, nuzzling his hair. Arthur remembers the first time Eames nuzzled his hair and the way he'd floated with happiness, knowing Eames liked him back. Reaching down deep in himself, Arthur tries to find those feelings again and finds only complacency.

"That was amazing," Eames whispers, his breath tickling Arthur's ear. He wraps Arthur tighter and draws him in. "Don't you think maybe it's your turn, hm?" One large hand grasps Arthur's ass and hauls him close and all Arthur can think is "I wonder if they really did get together in that movie."

"What's wrong?"

"Hm?" Arthur hums, turning his head to press a kiss to Eames' stubbled cheek.

Eames pulls back and frowns at him. "You just gave me what was arguably one of the better blowjobs I've ever received, thank you by the way, and you're lying here like, like…"

"Like it was nothing?" Arthur asks, frowning down at Eames' chest.

"What's going on with you, Arthur?" Eames voice, his eyes, are deadly serious as he sits up, tugging Arthur up with him. "Are you going to leave me?"

"No, of course not," Arthur insists, still avoiding those eyes.

Eames cups his chin and forces Arthur to look at him. "Then what, darling? You can tell me. Please, tell me what I can do to make it better."

"It's not you, Eames. It's-"

"What it's you?"

There it is. The hurt. God, the last thing Arthur wants to do is hurt Eames. They sit there silently for a moment.

"No, it's us." Arthur braves a glance at Eames' face and finds it confused, rather than angry. It's a start. He shifts, taking Eames' hands in his own. "What I mean is - aren't you a little….I don't know, bored? Not bored, I mean. But like." Arthur pauses, frustrated. Words were never his strong suit. Words are Eames' thing. Pictures, models, research - Arthur can do those things. If he could draw his thoughts, that would make this so much easier.

"Arthur, are you saying our love life needs a reboot?" Eames asks, his tone equal parts amused and a little hurt.

Arthur looks up at him with a tiny sheepish grin. "Maybe," he replies, then chuckles as Eames' face breaks into a wide smile. "I just mean, we always do the same thing. You blow me or jerk me off until I'm on the edge and then you fuck me until we're both out of our minds with pleasure and then we fall asleep."

Eames just continues smiling at him. Annoying bastard.

"Stop looking at me like that," Arthur replies, trying to conceal his own grin. This is going much better than anticipated. "It's not that I don't enjoy those things. I just…was thinking maybe it was time we mixed it up. A little. Maybe. Perhaps."

"What, like you top for a while?" Eames asks, head cocked to the side.

"Well, I mean, I don't know. Maybe?"

Arthur feels young and stupid right now. Less like the middle aged woman and more like a 16 year old boy with his first fuck. Awkward and bumbling and not sure what goes where or how and then Eames squeezes his hands, his face turning serious.

"Make a list then."

"I'm sorry?" Arthur replies, slightly dumbfounded.

"Make a list and we'll try things out and maybe try to, what's the phrase? 'Recapture the spark,'" Eames says, complete with quote fingers.

"Okay." Arthur smiles. "I'll make a list."

"I look forward to it. Now," Eames' smile turns dangerous again. "How about I return that favor?"

Arthur laughs as he's tipped back onto the floor, a couch pillow placed lovingly under his head. This might be okay.


End file.
